


I Smell You, You Smell Me, We're A Happy Murder Family

by TheSilverQueen



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #ItsStillBeautiful, Bonding, Hannibal smelling Will, M/M, Possessive Hannibal, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7751107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSilverQueen/pseuds/TheSilverQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s become a bit of a familiar game, implications and innuendos to govern their life now that all the truths are uncovered and all the warts accepted.</p>
<p>Once in a while, when Will realizing Hannibal is pining, he will roll over or turn around or lean closer and say, “What do I smell like now?” <em>I want to be closer.</em></p>
<p>And Hannibal will say, “The same as always.” <em>Are you sure?</em></p>
<p>And Will, lovely, darling, dearest Will, will bear that gorgeous neck and shake aside his curls, and say, “No, really, I want to know.” <em>Always.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	I Smell You, You Smell Me, We're A Happy Murder Family

**Author's Note:**

> Second contribution to the [Hannibal Cre-Ate-Ive #ItsStillBeautiful challenge](http://hannibalcreative.tumblr.com/post/148067771429/join-us-for-itsstillbeautiful-what-is-it)! This one was unplanned, and definitely un-betaed, so any and all mistakes are purely me.
> 
> Also, yes, this title is a slightly - okay, very - morbid warping of the Barney "I love you" song. I'd say I'm sorry, but . . . yeah.

The tradition starts, fittingly enough, on the first night of Will’s new life after his becoming.

Hannibal often says that he has no control over what emerges from the chrysalis no matter how lovingly he attends to it, and there is no creature Hannibal has devoted more time and energy to than Will, yet all the same, every time he looks at this new glorious creature, he feels a swell of enormous pride that it is he who has tended to and provided for and guided this amazing creation. Watching Will push through the water and emerge from the waves gasping for air and fighting for life is so gorgeous Hannibal almost forgets to breathe himself.

Together, as one, they forge ahead to the shore. 

Then it’s a blur of scrambling onto sand, collapsing to rest before stumbling upright again. Hannibal kept a collection of boats in a dock nearby under several aliases, in case he would ever need to flee from the house by the cliff, and now it comes in use. He lets Will choose the boat, and Will – unsurprisingly – goes for the middle range boat, sturdy and well tended, but less lavish than the bigger, gaudier yachts that were more befitting of Hannibal’s social circles.

Will picks a point on the horizon, sets on the autopilot, and then he drags Hannibal into one of the cabins, digging around, grimacing, for a first aid kit. Hannibal insists on a shower first, and Will, rather grudgingly, agrees. 

After that, it’s a slow meandering journey of repair. Hannibal tends to Will’s cheek and other wounds, and Will, with surprisingly less shaky hands than one might expect, sutures and treats Hannibal’s wounds, following his instructions with little fuss. Once finished, Will pushes the first aid kit on the floor with a grunt and collapses onto the bed with a sigh, not even bothering to pull the covers up.

Hannibal looks at his messy, uncoordinated, rude Will, and can only find adoration in his heart.

That is why he lets the grievance pass uncontested, and merely climbs in to sleep beside him, dreaming of waves and blood and the beautiful sight of Will’s becoming.

* * *

In the morning, Hannibal wakes to Will propped up on his elbows, studying Hannibal so intently one might think he’d grown a third eye in the center of his forehead.

Hannibal, naturally, reclines and says nothing, trusting Will’s ability to speak when he is ready.

And speak he does. “I wonder,” Will says slowly, “what do I smell like now?”

Hannibal blinks. Curiosity is not what he sees in Will’s body language right now. Well, some curiosity, but it’s more about how Hannibal will react to Will’s reaction than anything else. Besides, as far as Hannibal can tell, Will’s olfactory abilities are fairly well within the range of normal human sensibilities, and he’s never expressed an interest to know what he smells like. On the contrary, he’s often resorted to terrible scents to cover up his beautiful natural scent. 

And yet.

Will’s body language is a captivating picture of its own. He’s just far away enough to be within the range of polite distance, yet his toes are twitching and Hannibal can tell that he’s purposely rested most of his weight on his elbows to stop them from twitching to. There are faint creases of stress on his forehead. Will is anxious.

Hannibal tells him, “You smell the same as always, dear Will.”

Because Hannibal’s smelled Will many times – fevered sweetness of infection, the spiking adrenaline of betrayal in the cell, the barely contained rage of equality with Randall Tier at their feet, the shocked grief of bloody sorrow. Underneath it is all is pure Will, and nothing can replace or describe that.

Will snorts, and at that, a lot of the tension seems to leave his body. He leans forward, bearing that gorgeous neck, and says, “No, really, I want to know.”

And, well. Like Hannibal will refuse that invitation.

Besides, he too is just a little bit curious as to whether Will’s becoming will have changed his scent. Perhaps now he will smell always a little bit of blood and sea, to note the christening upon the altar.

Hannibal leans forward, nosing alongside that tantalizing skin and brushing up against soft curls, and inhales, deep and long, the way he rarely does to avoid people commenting upon the strangeness of the action. He smells Will, pure and undiluted, certainly, but also a particular combination that he associates with Will’s calm: pine trees, like the ones that enclosed his first artful kill in France swallowing the squealing of the pig; jasmine, which he’d left at the sight of the memorial for the first victim of the first chrysalis he’d ever mentored; and sea salt, tangy and brisk, as rich as the sea they’ve just been baptized in.

“You smell wonderful,” Hannibal murmurs without thinking. “Like pine trees and jasmine and the sea. Calm and beauty and baptism, all in one.”

“You’re so weird,” is all Will replies, a mere vibration in his throat against Hannibal’s nose tucked up close, and that’s when Hannibal comes to the final realization of this request.

It is not merely about scents, although Will genuinely was a little curious.

It was about closeness. Will, despite Hannibal being the one who spent three years behind padded cells and bound in straightjackets, is as touch starved as he was the day they first met, only now he’s free of the societal restrictions and self-imposed rules that bound him from making contact. Now he’s free to want closeness and touch and contact, and yet, knowing that Hannibal will give him almost anything or anyone he asks for, Will still chose to wrap it in the same dance of innuendos and implications that have driven everything they’ve ever said to each other.

“What do I smell like?” _I want to be closer._

“The same as always.” _Are you sure?_

“No, really, what do I smell like?” _Always._

Clever, lovely, darling Will. Hannibal thinks now that it is a good thing he didn’t eat Will’s heart and mind. Perhaps he might not have survived eating this beautiful creature, bursting into potential and free of its chrysalis inside of him, devouring him from the inside out until he was nothing but a twitching, lifeless host. 

Hannibal draws away. For now, small doses are best to create a habit he has great interest in cultivating. 

Instead, he watches as Will struggles to control his disappointment – and his confusion over his disappointment – and asks, “So, Bedelia or Alana?”

**Author's Note:**

> This idea literally popped into my head while I was browsing some candles and laughing at some of the more ridiculous titles for scents. And also backing away in horror from some of the worst nose offenders. But basically, that means I really have no idea where this is going. I’ve left it as not complete because I feel like it’d be fun to add to but I don’t really have any solid ideas at the moment. So if anyone wants to chuck some ideas my way via [tumblr](http://thesilverqueenlady.tumblr.com) or the comments, that’d be cool and appreciated.


End file.
